


The Pretender

by SteveWilson



Category: Space: 1999
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23051728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteveWilson/pseuds/SteveWilson
Summary: An alien boy with phenomenal powers appears on Moonbase Alpha, pleading for sanctuary. Heavy focus on the secondary Year One characters.
Kudos: 5





	1. Teaser

Computers can go mad.

An ignorant man would say a computer was mad when it simply did what he asked it to do, but not what he expected it to do. The more sophisticated idiot knew this was folly, but assumed that the computer would always do exactly what it was told to do. David Kano knew better. He knew that, just like every other intelligent creature, an artificial intelligence could be touched by madness.

David had been given his first computer at the age of 13 and had fallen in love. But when the burgeoning personal computer industry had died a-borning, consumed by a devastating world war, David had taken up working on the massive, shared systems owned only by governments, universities and industrial giants.

Moonbase Alpha’s computer had been his employer’s masterpiece, and he had been her lead developer. She was the most sophisticated brain ever built, superior, in David’s eyes, to a human brain. When she was installed, David had come with her. For five years they’d been intimates, partners, practically a human/machine married couple. He knew her every habit and idiosyncrasy.

Today, he feared for her sanity.

IT’S GOING TO BE OKAY.

That was what was on her CRT readout on his desk. He asked out loud, “What’s going to be okay, Computer?”

None of his co-workers even looked up. They were used to these apparently informal conversations between Kano and his best friend. Some of them had even taken to addressing her directly themselves, calling her “Computer,” as though it were her name.

Well, it was her name. It’s not like there was another computer on the base. Even the Eagle guidance computers were instances of her own artificial identity. Disconnected from her, their processing power was laughable, and they could certainly make no decisions of their own.

EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE JUST FINE.

At first, the vaguest smile played across his lips. Someone was playing a joke on him. It had to be his co-worker, Sandra Benes. No one else approached his ability with the A.I.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “And why do you feel the need to tell me that?”

BECAUSE HE SAYS YOU’RE GOING TO BE FRIGHTENED. AND I DON’T WANT YOU TO BE FRIGHTENED, DAVID.

Kano looked up and across from him at Sandra. She had her head down, fussing, no doubt, with a set of tactical maps the Commander had had her working on for weeks. “It’s not funny, Sandra,” he said to her.

Guileless eyes looked up at him. “What is not funny, David?”

He chuckled. “What did you do to Computer? You know messing around with her primary interface can have repercussions you don’t expect.”

Sandra shook her head. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Sandra was one of the most brilliant people David knew. On top of that, she was kind and empathetic. Her compassionate strength had been the heart of the team that had kept Moonbase Alpha alive for the past eleven months.

But Sandra Benes had no idea how to lie. When she tried, for the sake of a joke, her voice shook, and she burst into giggles that would have embarrassed the silliest school girl.

She was not giggling now.

“Well, if you didn’t do it–” David turned back to his console as Sandra, concerned, stood and came to join him. “Computer,” he asked, “please identify the person who is supplying you with the data set in question.”

THAT WOULD BE TELLING. BUT DON’T BE AFRAID. HE’S GOING TO MAKE EVERYTHING BETTER.

Beside him now, Sandra raised an eyebrow. “Is Computer developing a sense of humor?”

David scanned an overall system health check, and reviewed the list of active nodes on the network. Nothing looked unusual. He tried to zero in on nodes which were receiving input now, or had been in the last few seconds.

DON’T BE SILLY, DAVID. HE THINKS TOO FAST TO USE ANY OLD KEYBOARD.

David took a deep breath and massaged his forehead with both hands. It’s fine, he told himself. It’s a bad board in an auxiliary system. Maybe it’s the one in hydroponic. The humidity isn’t good for Computer.

He jumped up and ran to the primary Main Mission interface complex on the West wall. He’d find a clue there. He could isolate the problem, and–

He stopped in his tracks before he even hit the steps leading up to the panels. They were flashing. All of them. They weren’t displaying the normal activity readouts and power indicators that David could have read like a children’s book, indicating that all was functioning normally. They were displaying, idiotically, in waves of color, the entire spectrum sweeping across the wall, as though a child were monkeying with test patterns on the LEDs. It was like a Christmas display on the roof of a house.

It could mean only one thing. Computer’s logic circuits were compromised.

“God,” he whispered to himself. “God, please don’t make me shut her down.”

* * *

“Mama!” cried Jackie Crawford. He was seated on the floor in their quarters, a huge, winning smile on his face. It was so like his father’s smile, so like Jack. One day, it would win hearts, and, no doubt, break them… If hearts there were to be won on Moonbase Alpha in about fifteen years. His tiny fingers held out the ball again.

“No, Baby, no more,” said Sue. “Mama’s tired now. Aren’t you tired?”

Jackie shook his head, outfitted now with a dense growth of black hair. She’d known his hair would look like that. She’d seen him grow up once.

The day Jackie was born, he’d aged five years. Sue had become hysterical at the sight of him. She’d died screaming in terror at the sight of him.

The next day he’d grown to adulthood.

It had been aliens, of course. That was their world now–living out in space, encountering extraterrestrials and unknown forces, being manipulated and changed in ways no one had imagined possible. A creature called Jarak had accelerated Jackie’s growth and taken over his body. Jarak’s wife had reanimated Sue’s dead body and taken her over.

In the end, Jarak’s own people had freed them and restored Jackie to infancy.

The memory still made her uneasy with her child.

Sue remembered everything. She remembered the horror of the oversized child, kicking in the incubator. She remembered the terror she felt as he had approached her. She remembered her breath catching, her throat closing up, pain…

As Jackie grew to look once again like that prematurely aged child, sometimes his smile, or those all-seeing eyes, brought back the memories of horror and pain. What a curse to be a mother, haunted by the face of her own child.

But she was working through it. Dr. Helena Russell, though she could be dismissive, cold, even calculating, was a compassionate healer and a damned good psychologist. She had helped Sue through the worst of it. And there was Alan Carter, too. The chief pilot’s easygoing nature and devotion to her tiny son helped ease the pain of being a single mother. She liked Alan, but, in some ways, he was just a kid himself. Hopes that they, someday, might actually be a mother and a father to Jackie had faded in recent weeks.

Still, she had support. Every now and then, though, the feeling of unease returned. It was with her now. Something was wrong. Ever since she’d finished her duty shift and reclaimed Jackie from the makeshift day nursery in Medical where Dr. Russell’s staff kept him while she worked, she’d felt watched. She’d felt like there were eyes in the shadows and the dark corners, watching her.

She was pretty sure that had nothing to do with Jackie.

No, what Jackie was causing now was frustration. “Ball,” he pleaded, and he gave it a throw. It was a pretty good throw, too. Thanks, Alan, she thought. The ball careened in the corner farthest from the door. Was that corner always that dark? Was something wrong with the power tonight?

“It can just stay there,” said Sue, not liking how brittle her tone was. She forced a smile. “You and I are going to settle down and watch a movie. Would you like that?”

“Ball!” said Jackie again.

Sue went to pick him up and carry him to the sofa. As she knelt, though, something struck her in the shoulder. Jackie squealed with laughter and pointed at the corner where he’d thrown the ball–the ball that was now on the floor by her foot–the ball that had just flown through the air and struck her.

“Who’s there?” asked Sue, gathering up Jackie in her arms. He wiggled, trying to reach the ball. Absently, backing away from the shadows, she picked it up and handed it to him.

Jackie reared back, ball in hand.

“No, Baby, don’t–” Sue began.

But Jackie had already flung the ball back into the corner.

Sue tensed up and placed a hand on her commlock, ready to bolt at any moment.

Jackie pointed at the corner and said, “Boy!”

“What?” demanded Sue. “What do you mean?” She tried to smile and ruffled his hair. “You’re the only boy in this room, silly.”

Jackie pointed again. “Boy!”

There was a laugh. From the corner of the room, there was the clear, genuine laugh of a boy at play, a young teen, perhaps. In any other circumstance, it would be a beautiful sound, a welcoming sound. It caused Sue’s blood to chill. There were no other boys on Alpha.

When the ball flew back from the shadows again, under greater force this time, Sue gave a cry. She fumbled for her commlock, dropped it, then had the inspiration to use the reading lamp on the side table. Turning it on, she turned its head on its flexible neck and washed the corner in light.

No one was there.

Out in the hallway, she heard footsteps, and that same boyish laugh.

“Who are you?” she shouted, and Jackie began to cry. Shushing him, patting his back, she made for the door. She would not play the hysterical mother. She would confront this mystery and deal with it. She would make Jack and Jackie proud of her.

The door opened at her approach, as it was programmed to. She didn’t even think to scoop up the commlock. Carrying Jackie on one hip, she ran out into the bright corridor. Seeing no one, she ran toward the corner intersection. As she approached the comm post in its center, thinking to alert security, the lights went out.

The corridors outside her unit had no windows. There was not even starlight to light her way. And there was something in the shadows.

“Is someone there?” she called out.

Again, the boy laughed. She backed away from the sound and–no! There were footsteps behind her. She whirled, not knowing which direction she finally pointed herself, and ran. She collided with a body, arms grabbed her.

Sue screamed, and Jackie cried anew.

A light flipped on, the flashlight setting on a commlock. It struck her eyes and blinded her for a moment. As two hands held her firmly, a familiar voice said, “Sue, calm down!”

She looked up, the glare fading, and saw the familiar features of Michael Keel, the Eagle pilot who lived next door. “Oh, God,” she sobbed, and fell against his chest.

He wrapped a consoling arm around her, and she reveled in the feeling. To have someone reach out to her, not be afraid to touch her; to be treated as a human being, not as a widow, not as a victim of alien infestation–it was almost worth the terror.

Mike lifted her face and asked gently, “What did you see?”

“I didn’t see it,” said Sue, “I heard it. It was–”

Another boyish laugh sounded. Mike directed his commlock’s light in a circle around the intersection. Sue’s breath caught as she saw a flash of bare skin, and, for the briefest of moments, a face. It was a boy, a teen, with hair so dark it blended with the shadows, wearing white breeches and a cape–some minimalist approximation of a Flash Gordon costume. He smiled at her.

He disappeared.

Mike palmed his commlock and keyed the alarm button. “Security,” he said, “to residence area 17B.”

* * *

Victor Bergman swore quietly as the comm post behind him blared, demanding attention. He was neither an impatient nor a profane man, usually, but tonight he had set the “do not disturb” mode on his commlock and had been immersed in work, developing refinements to the protective force field he’d designed months ago. It was a pet project, a gift, he hoped, to help keep his friends alive in the years to come.

He did not look up. “Who is it?”

“Victor,” said the familiar voice of John Koenig. “I’m guessing I caught you in the middle of something.”

“You are guessing correctly,” said Victor, but he couldn’t help smiling. He turned around now. Koenig would not bypass a privacy setting without good cause.

“Sorry, but something’s up. Several reports of possible intruder activity, accompanied by power fluctuations. Kano’s so spooked he’s thinking of power-cycling Computer.”

Bergman pursed his lips. “Signs of the Apocalypse indeed. But John, I’ve seen no irregularities with Computer this evening.”

“Kano says it was speaking to him, calling him by name, and spouting nonsense. And Sue Crawford claims an imaginary boy was trying to play catch with Jackie.”

“I think Sue and Kano need to be prescribed an extra sleep shift.”

On the tiny screen, Koenig grinned. “You sound like Helena.”

“Sensible woman, Dr. Russell,” agreed Bergman. “All right, John, I’ll help Kano run a complete diagnostic. And have Joan Conway get me the logs from the generating area. But first, I’m going to write down what I still remember of tonight’s calculations.”

Koenig winced. He knew how frustrating it was to Bergman to be interrupted. “Sorry, Victor.”

“I imagine I’ll survive. And I’ll be in Main Mission directly.”

The monitor flashed back to the familiar Alpha wallpaper, and Bergman picked up a pad to make notes. He could have dictated to the commlock, and thus into Computer’s perms, but he let his assistants take care of that. Victor Bergman had been born as the Nazis were still bombing London, and technology, while he was no stranger to it, did not interface well with his personal habits.

“You think I’m not real.”

At first, Bergman thought the comm post had reactivated; but the voice was not Koenig’s. It was not the voice of anyone Bergman knew. It was the voice of a boy, just pubescent, from the sound of it. He turned to see its owner.

It was, indeed, a boy. Slightly shorter than Bergman, but gaining the height that came with adolescence. He wore a costume of sorts, white pants, a cape. His eyes were so clear and blue that they almost seemed to glow.

“Would you be our phantom ballplayer?” asked Bergman.

A smile played about the boy’s lips. Bergman recognized the set of the mouth, the twinkle in the eye, from many years of freshman intro classes. This was a mischievous one.

“Who are you?” he asked easily, taking a step forward. “How did you come to be here?”

The boy’s eyes widened, and he stiffened. “Everything’s about to change,” he said.

Then, as if he had never been there, he was gone.

* * *

John Koenig would have liked to have been in bed. It was past 2200, base time, and he was especially tired this evening. When Sandra had contacted him, however, and told him of Kano’s fears, he knew he would not be sleeping soon. He was in Main Mission now, reading through accounts of sightings, power outages, practical jokes.

“It’s like having a damned poltergeist on the base,” he muttered to himself. He tried not to think of Dan Mateo, dead now, and the very real ghost that had recently visited them.

Victor Bergman came into Main Mission, moving with purpose, calling out his name.

Koenig stood and came to meet him. Bergman had an artificial heart, and was not supposed to exert himself. “I didn’t tell you to run, Victor. Helena would have my head if you–”

The Professor seized Koenig’s extended hand with force. Taking a breath, he said, “I saw him, John. I saw the boy. Must be the one Sue Crawford saw. He appeared in my lab.”

Koenig’s initial impulse was disbelief, but this was Victor Bergman, his oldest, sanest friend. “Couldn’t it be some sort of trick?” Koenig asked.

Victor started to reply, but was interrupted by a bright flash from behind him. He turned toward his office. Standing by his desk was a figure that could only be the boy Bergman and Sue Crawford claimed to have seen. This could be no trick. There were no males this age on Alpha, and the state of dress precluded a girl playing a trick.

Koenig stalked forward. “Who are you?” he demanded.

The boy looked up at him, panic in his eyes. He could not answer before another voice called out, thunderous, ringing in Koenig’s ears and seeming to emanate from the very air.

“Pretender!” was the only word the voice spoke.

It cowed the boy. He crouched low, looking all around him, as if being attacked by a flock of birds of prey. In his frenzy, he made eye contact with Koenig again and croaked out a plea.

“Please. Hide me.”

Koenig reached out a steadying hand, but, before he could make contact with the frightened stranger, there was another flash of light, like ball lightning, centered on the boy. Within its brilliance, the new arrival crumpled.

As the light faded, Koenig sprang forward and knelt, gingerly touching the boy’s flesh with the back of his hand, in case any sort of charge remained from the blast. The skin which met his fingers was cold. Koenig pressed two fingers to the smooth throat and probed, but could find no pulse.

He looked up at Bergman in amazement. “I think he’s dead.”


	2. ACT ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A powerful someone comes looking for Alpha's refugee.

ACT ONE

In Medical Centre, Koenig and Bergman looked up as Helena Russell entered from the isolation ward. She’d insisted the boy be kept separate from other patients, due to his unknown origins.

“He’s alive,” said Helena, scratching her head. “But in a coma.”

“I swear he was dead, Helena,” said Koenig. “There was no pulse.”

“Electric shock can stop the heart,” said Victor, who knew too well the limits of a heart’s endurance.

“True,” said Helena, “but this wasn’t electricity.”

“It looked like a bolt of lightning,” said Koenig.

“It was… something else. I’m not sure what. I suppose it could have momentarily stopped the heart–”

“Is he human?” asked Koenig. “I mean, an Earth human?”

Helena shrugged. “He’s as human as you or I. What his planet of origin is, I can’t say. And he likely never will.”

“You mean he’s not going to wake up?” said Koenig.

“There’s cellular disruption, permanent brain damage. If he were to wake up, his motor skills would be impaired, there would be significant memory loss. The best functional level I’d hope for would be that of an infant.”

“You mean he’d be better off dead,” finished Koenig.

Helena looked sad. “It’s against my training to ever say that, but–”

From the open door of the doctors’ office, Bob Mathias’s voice called out, “Dr. Russell, you need to come quickly!”

Helena spun and headed back into the isolation ward, enforced, professional calm a mask on her face. She did not object when Koenig and Bergman followed her. It wasn’t, Koenig reflected, as though neither of them had ever seen death. Koenig felt a brief pang at the thought of a life ended so early in its course.

His sorrow turned to shock, however, when Helena stopped in her tracks, and his gaze followed to the sight that had given her pause. The boy was sitting up in bed, gazing around curiously, and picking at the adhesive tabs that held medical sensors to his skin. He looked at his three visitors and smiled in greeting.

* * *

“What is your name?” asked Koenig.

The boy reclined, arms folded, on the same bed in which he’d only too recently lain comatose. Helena had demanded privacy and time for at least a cursory examination. Soon enough, she’d declared him in perfect health. There was no evidence of brain damage, no tissue degeneration from radiation, no signs of shock, not even a strained muscle or bruise from his fall. Indeed, his cells seemed capable of repairing themselves at a rapid rate. There were also signs of enhanced brain function, beyond what a normal human brain was capable of generating.

To Koenig’s question, the boy looked baffled. “I don’t need a name. I know who I am.”

“What do others call you, when they want your attention?” asked Helena.

The boy regarded her patiently, but used the tone one might use with a congenital idiot. “When another wants my attention, he knows to whom he is speaking. There is never any confusion.”

“But what if–?” Helena began.

The boy interrupted her, holding up his hands in front of him and studying them as though he’d never seen their like. “Your forms are limiting. Confusing. No wonder you don’t know who you are. That must be why you need names.”

The implications of the comment intrigued him, but Koenig was not going to be distracted. Whoever this boy was, he represented a threat to Alpha on multiple levels. They needed to control the questions and answers. “How did you get here?”

“I stepped here,” the boy said simply.

“You materialized,” prompted Victor, “as if from thin air.”

“Yes,” the boy repeated, “I stepped here. One moment I was somewhere else, and then I was with you.”

“But the mechanism of these… steps… is something we don’t understand,” said Victor. “How do you do it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care how it works, only that it does.”

“You could step from this room, right now?” asked Koenig.

As if in answer, the boy pulled back the sheet covering his legs and swung to a standing position.

“Wait,” said Helena, “what are you doing? I’m not sure you’re ready to–”

“You’re not sure I’m ready for the strenuous exercise of standing?” laughed the boy. “You said yourself, Dr. Russell, that I’m in perfect health.” He stopped and tilted his head in realization. “‘Doctor Russell.’ That is a name, isn’t it?”

“It’s my name,” said Helena.

“Did I use it correctly?”

She smiled, baffled. “Yes.”

“Good. I heard the other man call you that. And that’s really what you have to do, to get each other’s attention? Use these… names?”

“That’s really what we have to do,” said Helena.

“Extraordinary,” said the boy.

“What do your people do, when they want to speak to each other?” asked Victor.

“One thing at a time,” said the boy. “This one–” he nodded at Koenig expectantly.

“My name is Commander Koenig.”

“Commander Koenig asked if I can step from this room.”

The boy disappeared. Before Koenig could even think what to make of this development, he reappeared behind them.

“I can,” he said.

* * *

“It seems that the boy is able to travel between dimensions,” said Victor. The three of them were gathered in Helena’s private office, the boy having been left under the watchful eye of Bob Mathias.

“It’s theoretically possible,” said Koenig, “But it’s never been demonstrated.”

“Perhaps it has, John. We passed ‘through’ a black sun, something our own physics can’t explain. We traveled to an alternate future where Alphans re-colonized a dead earth. Perhaps those were extra-dimensional journeys.”

“But they were journeys made blindly,” said Helena. “If this boy can do what you propose–”

“He could appear anywhere, at anytime, with no warning,” finished Victor.

“And that’s not the only thing that disturbs me,” said Koenig. “If he possesses this power to travel between dimensions, between alternate realities beyond space as we understand it, then he represents a species with a power that’s beyond anything we’re prepared to cope with.”

“But does his power represent technological achievement,” asked Victor, “or a natural ability?”

“I’d like to find that out,” agreed Koenig, “but there’s more. He made reference to the limits of our forms, of our language. ”

“It’s as if he’s not actually human,” said Helena, “but some other kind of life that’s assumed our form.”

“Exactly,” said Koenig. “And if he has all those capabilities–inter-dimensional travel, fantastic powers of healing, metamorphosis–then, if he turns against us, he could be the greatest danger we’ve ever faced.”

“Or he could be what he appears to be, John,” said Victor. “A boy who needs help.”

“Our help against voices that appear from nowhere and blast him with energy weapons we can’t explain? No, Victor, call me paranoid if you like–”

“You have to weigh the risks, John, I understand that. But let’s look at our potential advantages. In human form, he was struck down, possibly even dead for a time.”

“And he recovered in minutes,” said Helena.

“Nonetheless,” said Victor, “he’s not invulnerable, nor unstoppable. In human form, he might be controlled. It might give us time to determine if we can help him–and if he might help us.”

***

“Aren’t you supposed to be confined to Medical?” asked Paul Morrow.

The boy had just entered Main Mission and was strolling amongst the workstations, observing.

“No one confined me. They left to talk about me, to try to decide what I am.”

Quietly, Paul keyed the alert for Security to report. They would be here in minutes. Meantime, this boy didn’t look like anything he couldn’t handle.

The boy was looking at him. “Who are you?”

“My name is Morrow. I’m the mission controller.”

“Is that an important job?”

“All our jobs are important.”

The boy gestured at another station. “Who is she?”

“That’s Tanya Alexander,” said Paul calmly. “She’s my centre administrator. She assists me and can work any position in Main Mission.”

“Did you see me die?” the boy asked Tanya.

Tanya pulled one of those patented, enigmatic smiles she did so well. If her youth hadn’t made it impossible, Paul would have sworn she’d studied feminine wiles under Greta Garbo. “I saw you hit by some sort of lightning,” she said. “That would stop anyone’s heart.”

“So you’re not afraid of me?”

“None of us are afraid of you,” said Paul.

“Good. Because I’m here to help you.”

“Help us in what way?” asked Tanya.

“What’s important to you?” asked the boy. “What do you need that you don’t have?”

Morrow considered this odd boy, wondered whether he were seriously interested in Alpha’s plight, or just playing games. Still, he answered honestly, “A new world.”

“What’s wrong with this world? I like it here.”

“It’s not really a world. It’s a piece of debris we cling to to survive. We–lost our home world. We’re not made to live in such a confining environment.”

He saw Tanya smiling and giving a gentle eye roll. She’d heard all this before on long nighttime shifts. Once, long ago, Paul had been a rabid outdoorsman. His tour of duty on Alpha was meant to be brief, just long enough to get a probe launched. He hated being indoors all the time.

“Hmm,” said the boy. “Should I remake this world? Or you?”

“What?” asked Tanya.

Ignoring her, the boy asked Paul, “What is it that this world lacks?”

“Resources, immediately.”

“Resources?”

“Nuclear fuel. Sooner or later we’re going to run out. Rare elements for our life support system, so that we can continue recycling oxygen and water.”

The boy stroked his chin, mirroring Paul’s own gesture. “Nuclear power? I’ll have to study it. It’s what powers stars, right?”

“A form of it,” said Paul, amused.

“You’re surprisingly uneducated,” said Tanya, “for someone who can travel through space at will.”

“I’m not interested in details,” said the boy dismissively. He walked to Tanya, sat, and looked over her shoulder. “What does all this tell you?” he asked.

“It shows us all the base’s automated systems. How much power they’re consuming, if there are any errors or warnings.”

Paul held up a hand. “Let’s not say too much, Tanya.” At the boy’s questioning gaze, he added, “Nothing personal, you understand. It’s just that you’re not cleared to know some of the things we do here.”

“Not cleared.” The boy seemed to roll the words around on his tongue. “You’re keeping secrets, so that I don’t find your weaknesses.”

“That’s right,” said Paul.

The boy gestured at Tanya’s workspace, and then at the big screen. “But the weaknesses are all too apparent. The slightest failure in one of your systems–recycling, temperature, electrical power–could kill all of you in an instant.”

Paul nodded. That was too true.

“I need to study all of this,” the boy said with determination. “This has got to be corrected immediately.” He glanced at the big screen, and images began to race across it. Side screens also lit up with data in a mad, dizzying flood of information.

“What are you doing?” Paul demanded.

“I need to know everything about you so I can help. Your secrecy doesn’t matter.”

Tanya’s eyes flew over the readouts in front of her. “He’s driving Computer to feed data at an unprecedented speed. The power drain is staggering. I’m not sure the processors can handle the sustained load.”

“Stop,” said Paul, taking the boy’s arm.

“Just another few moments.”

“Stop now,” Paul insisted. He seized the boy’s shoulders and spun him so that they were facing each other. “You’re endangering us.”

The boy coughed out a sarcastic laugh. “You just don’t understand, I’m trying to help you.”

From the front entrance, two purple-sleeved figures strode in, stun guns drawn. “Some trouble, Mr. Morrow?”

“Yes, Verdeschi. This intruder–”

“I’m not an intruder, I’m your friend!”

Seeing the boy, Verdeschi frowned in recognition. “You again. You’re just popping up everywhere, aren’t you?” He came forward to press his gun against the boy’s spine. “Stop what you’re doing, or–”

“Did you say that I’m using too much power?” asked the boy suddenly.

“And endangering our computer’s hardware,” said Paul.

“The problem is power,” said the boy to himself, then, almost absently to Verdeschi, “Get that thing out of my back, it hurts.”

The security officer wrapped an arm around the boy’s throat, placing him in a hold. “I can be a lot less gentle if you don’t start cooperating.”

“Oh, this is silly,” said the boy. Then, thinking out loud, he muttered, “The first problem is power,” and vanished.

Verdeschi stumbled as he was suddenly applying leverage to a captive who wasn’t there. “What the hell?” he demanded.

“Go,” said Morrow. “Start with the generating area.” He turned away as Verdeschi and his cohort broke into a run. “Tanya, raise the Commander.”

* * *

Koenig rounded a corner and found Tony Verdeschi, a security officer he’d recently promoted to a supervisory role, standing outside the generating area entrance. He and his fellow guard had their weapons drawn.

“Is he inside?” Koenig asked.

Verdeschi nodded. “He’s ‘observing operations.’ I was holding off, waiting for reinforcements. As if they’ll do any good.”

“Where has he been?”

Verdeschi looked sour. “Everywhere. There aren’t many areas of the base he hasn’t visited and disrupted. A few minutes after you left Medical, he just popped out–”

“And started popping in elsewhere?” finished Koenig.

“He’s monkeying with equipment, entering secured areas, frightening personnel–the kid’s an interstellar juvenile delinquent.”

Helena and Victor caught up, she having stayed with the elder scientist to force him to walk slowly.

Victor, catching this last, said, “I’m not sure that’s an accurate description, Mr. Verdeschi. We think the boy is not actually human, that he’s taken our form. If that’s true, it’s natural that he’d be curious about us, as any child is curious about his new environment.”

Helena smiled, seemingly unable to stop herself. “For someone who’s never been a father, Victor, you have quite an affinity for children.”

Victor waved her off. “Simple psychology, Helena. A young mind in an unfamiliar place is programmed to learn. He wants to know how we live, what our technology is–”

“What our offensive capabilities are, where the weaknesses in our defense systems are,” added Verdeschi.

Bergman’s simple nod of concession was so gentle, so free of recrimination, that it seemed to immediately disarm the young Italian. He eased his expression. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, Professor. It’s just my job.”

“So it is,” said Victor. “And they’re points well-taken.” He looked to Koenig. “John, we should take care how much the boy sees.”

Koenig grimaced. “If it’s possible to control anything at all with someone that powerful. Never mind the reinforcements, Tony. Let’s go in. Our best chance is to reason with him, but–”

“I’ve got your back, Commander,” said Verdeschi.

* * *

Joan Conway, administrator of the base’s nuclear power plant, greeted them nervously when they entered. “He’s been in here for half an hour, Commander,” she told Koenig. “I’ve tried to get him out, but–”

She pointed to the banks of monitoring systems for the massive power plants, where the boy stood in the sort of parade-rest position that Victor Bergman often assumed when thoughtful, arms behind him, watching all that occurred. “He’s just standing there. But it’s as if he’s…absorbing knowledge.”

“If he’s vulnerable in this form,” said Tony Verdeschi, “I recommend we take him down now. Render him helpless, at least.”

“That could simply provoke him, John,” said Victor.

Koenig was thoughtful for a moment, then strode forward to within a few feet of the boy. “You’re in a restricted area.”

The boy looked at him and nodded. “That’s what she told me.” He jerked his chin at Conway. “But it seemed silly to me. I’m not going to harm anything.”

“You’ve already harmed things,” said Koenig, “by upsetting my people and tampering with our systems. If you’re going to be among us, you’ve got to follow our rules.”

“But I want to help you,” said the boy. “That’s why I’m learning as much as I can about you.” He looked Koenig in the eye and said firmly, “I can make your world better, make your ships travel farther, or even power your moon, give you control of it. That’s worth a lot more than obeying your silly rules.”

Helena came up behind Koenig. He wished she wouldn’t, but arguing in front of the boy was not something he wanted to do. Koenig kept his peace while she asked, “Why? Why would you do those things for us?”

The boy answered without thought. “It’s what we do.”

Koenig noted that he didn’t bother to explain to whom he referred by saying “we.”

Returning his gaze to the monitors, their young interloper said dismissively, “Please leave me alone to study and decide what’s best for you.”

Behind him, Koenig heard two aggressive steps, and, before he could object, Tony Verdeschi had raised and fired his stun gun at the boy, declaring, “You’re not studying anyone.”

Koenig’s cry of reproach was lost in a burst of sizzling static as the beam struck short of its target, diffusing in a semi-spherical pattern a few feet from the boy’s body. After a split-second’s hesitation, the energy coalesced and reformed as a beam again, this time striking back at its source.

Helena called out Tony’s name as the blast caught him square in the chest, and Victor rushed to catch the security guard as he collapsed, unconscious.

A smug laugh came from the other side of the now-fading sphere of light that had protected Tony’s intended victim. “That wasn’t a very good idea.”

John Koenig was not a violent man, especially with children. He had always found limitless patience for young people, and imagined, as a father, he would never find the need to employ physical punishment. At this moment, though, he felt an overwhelming urge to slap the grin off the face of this cocky man-child who had invaded his base.

But John Koenig was apparently not the ultimate authority figure in this particular scene. Again, as it had in Main Mission an hour ago, the thunderous voice rang out in his ears, in his head, in his very bones.

“Enough!”

The boy’s face went white as all arrogance and confidence drained away. Whoever owned the stentorian voice, he was terrified of it.

“You cannot escape the consequences of your crimes any longer,” said the voice.

The glowing sphere appeared again around the boy, intensifying to a blinding glare, radiating light and heat in all directions.

“He’s trying to defend himself,” whispered Victor at Koenig’s ear.

“Against what?” wondered Koenig.

Whatever the attack was, it was successful. The light of the sphere faded, and, when it was gone, so was the boy.

“What the hell just happened?” asked Koenig out loud.

His commlock bleeped. When he activated it, he saw Tanya Alexander, her face written in fear. “Commander, come at once. They are in Main Mission.”

No one needed to ask who “they” were.

* * *

The first thing Koenig noted when they entered Main Mission was that someone was sitting in his chair. It was the boy again, in Alphan uniform–Koenig’s uniform, the black-sleeved regalia of command.

“What do you think you’re doing?” snapped Koenig.

“Merely working my post, Commander,” said the boy.

To his right, previously unseen, was a new figure. He was tall, imposing, a veritable giant of a man with flowing, black hair tied at the nape of his neck and a neat, bearded face. He wore a simple, black, jumpsuit that clung and flowed as he moved, as though it were made of living darkness, rather than fabric.

“You are the senior here?” he asked. The voice was just a human voice from a human body. It did not resonate in Koenig’s bones, but it was clearly the voice he’d heard minutes ago in the generating area, the bodiless voice of authority.

“I am,” said Koenig.

“Then I have come to speak to you. Do not waste my time bickering with your people.” He glared at the boy seated at Koenig’s desk.

Koenig realized that, for some reason, this new arrival believed the boy was just another Alphan. The boy’s eyes pleaded silently with Koenig not to reveal anything about him.

“What is it you want?” asked Koenig carefully.

“There has been a visitor among you, a stranger.” Quickly he added, “Do not deny it. I deal harshly with dishonesty.”

“I won’t deny it,” said Koenig. “We’ve had a visitor. I take it he’s one of your people.”

The commanding figure nodded, stepped forward, leaned in to Koenig. He had several inches’ height advantage over Alpha’s commander. “Where is he?”

Koenig was surprised, but managed to look neither right nor left, lest he give away too much. He wasn’t necessarily interested in protecting the boy, but he wanted to learn all that he could before he revealed anything. “Don’t you know?” Koenig asked.

“I know that he escaped. I tried to reclaim him just now, but he stepped away.”

“Then perhaps he’s gone,” said Koenig.

The man shook his massive head. “No. I can sense him. He is here.” He looked around him, surveying the faces of the Main Mission staff. “He has taken the form of one of your people. He may be within this very chamber. I would not know it.”

“Why not?” asked Helena. “If you can feel his presence–”

“My people are not beings of matter. We are pure, creative thought. We do not know the particulars of primitive physical form.” He spread his arms. “What you see before you is merely a reflection, an illusion cast for your convenience so that we may communicate. I will not expose myself to harm by becoming fully one of you, as the pretender has.”

“The pretender?” asked Koenig.

“A perverse creature. It derives pleasure from becoming physically incarnate. In any of these forms, it could die forever, its energies are so bound up in physical manifestation. Consequently, its energy signature is so obscured that I cannot distinguish between it and any one of your number.”

Alan Carter smirked. “We all look alike to you?”

The big man regarded the pilot with disdain. “That is what I said. But you,” he looked back at Koenig, “can recognize him. You know the stranger among you. Find him. Give him to me, and I will leave you in peace.”

“And what will you do with him?” asked Victor.

“Which are you?”

“I am Bergman.”

“I don’t care about the meaningless symbols you use to refer to each other. Why are you speaking? Why does any other than the senior speak?”

Koenig said, “These are all my advisors. They speak because I want them to. And I want an answer to Victor’s–to Bergman’s question. What will you do with the boy if we give him to you?”

“I will end his existence.”

“You’ll kill him?” said Helena.

The stranger did not seem at all perturbed by this paraphrasing of his words. “I believe that is your term for it, yes.”

Koenig chanced a look at the boy seated in his chair. There was fear in his eyes. He had already died once, and come back. Reading his face, Koenig knew that the dark man’s threat was real. The decision he had to make was life and death for the alien in the boy’s body.

“Look,” said Koenig, training his eyes upward on the taller man’s. “We don’t know anything about your people or your laws–”

“You are too primitive to begin to understand.”

“–But you can’t expect us to hand over a child to be killed.”

The dark man raised an eyebrow. “A child? You do not understand, Bergman–”

“I’m Koenig.”

“Koenig, then. It doesn’t matter, you’re all alike. I take it the pretender has told you of his relative youth, but he is not a child. He is older than any of you. You don’t understand what he can do. He will reshape your entire reality. Your past will be gone, your future radically altered. At his last port of call, he wiped a million souls from existence.”

A shaky voice to the side said, “He killed?” It was Sandra Benes, a look of astonishment coming to her face. Koenig hoped she wouldn’t betray the boy’s secret. They might very well hand him over to his own people’s justice, but they needed time to deliberate.

“He did worse than kill. He made it so his victims never lived at all.”

“You’ll have to let us discuss it,” said Koenig. He looked to Victor and Helena as he said it. He did not vet all his decisions with them, but here he felt on shaky ground.

The dark man sighed heavily and muttered, “Primitives.” He crossed his arms and gazed at Koenig. “I shall indulge you. How do you reckon time?” Before Koenig could answer, he said impatiently, “Not you, you’re useless. I’m asking a real intellect.”

Behind Koenig, a cold female voice said, “Absolute reckoning of human time increments may be determined by isolating the length of 30,000 processing cycles in my core processor. That is one second. Additional data being relayed.”

Koenig looked to Kano, still seated at his station. Computer never spoke unless directly authorized to do so.

Kano looked mortified. He said to the console before him, “Who asked you?”

Computer answered quickly and as conversationally as its stilted tones allowed, “My guest.”

The godlike being in front of Koenig almost smiled. “It is the most rational of you,” he said, nodding at Kano’s console. “You should respect it.” The man’s dark form began to glow subtly, and he dropped his arms to his side, drawing up to full height. “I shall return in one hour. You will surrender the ‘child,’ as you call him to me, or I shall erase you.”

“Erase us?” echoed Bergman.

The question seemed to annoy the being. He glared daggers at Victor. “Do not doubt my power.” Koenig, thinking his friend was in mortal danger, prepared to throw himself in the way of the blast that was surely coming. Alpha could find another commander, but without Bergman, she’d be lost. He was Alpha’s father figure, her heart.

But the dark man looked away, gazing at the big screen, which displayed a view of the stars ahead of them. Casually, he waved his hand.

The stars changed.

Alan Carter was the first to react. “Oh my God. The stars!”

Sandra Benes was at work immediately. Around her, the Main Mission team mobilized. “Our position in space has changed,” said Sandra.

“Where are we?” asked Koenig.

The diminutive analyst’s brow furrowed and she shook her head in frustration as she reviewed star charts. “No way of knowing. I can match not even a single star.”

“We may not even be in the same galaxy,” speculated Victor.

There were times Koenig wished Victor would keep his genius to himself.

“You are not in the same galaxy,” said their visitor. He looked meaningfully at Koenig. “That was the slightest fraction of my power. Surrender the fugitive, or your history ends today.”


	3. ACT TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alpha's new resident, the young man who calls himself Quince, stretches his creative muscles with astounding results.

“This person you’re running from,” said Victor, “who is he?”

“He is–I suppose you’d call him an author,” said the boy.

They were in Victor’s lab, with Verdeschi stationed outside. Koenig had agreed to let Victor, who seemed to share an affinity with the boy, question him alone. Before they decided what to do about the ultimatum they had received, they needed more information.

“And, ah, what does this author write?” Victor asked.

“He doesn’t write. He creates–stories, realities. He brings them into being for amusement. His own and that of others.”

“Do you mean to say that he–he creates universes? As entertainment?”

“Sometimes. And sometimes he just enhances–rewrites the fabric of an existing story.”

Victor pursed his lips and considered it. “He makes editorial changes? To worlds? A singularly powerful author. And why is he pursuing you?”

“Because I can live in the stories. I can be part of them, change them. That’s something he can’t do–or is afraid to do.”

“Afraid?”

“To enter a universe, to really experience it, means to sacrifice power. The more involved I become, the more vulnerable I am. He’s terrified of losing power.”

“That’s why the Author said he would not become fully one of us,” observed Victor. “But how does he effect change to a world if he doesn’t know its people? He can’t even tell us apart.”

“He believes that the history of a reality occurs on a much larger scale than that of individual creatures.” The boy paused and pointed to the corner of the room, where a chessboard sat, awaiting the next move in a game half-played. “I recognize that from the data I absorbed. It’s an amusement.”

“A game,” said Victor. “We call it ‘chess.'”

The boy stood and walked over to study the board. “Yes. And you label the pieces–King, Queen, Bishop, Pawn–but you don’t name them. They have no identity.” He picked up a pawn and held it out. “Do you even know one of these pawns from another?”

Victor chuckled, seeing the point being made. “No. Is it like that for you?”

“It is for him. Individual lives don’t matter at all. I’m beginning to see that they do matter.”

“And is that why he doesn’t want you living among his stories?”

The boy nodded. “He says I cheapen his works. Make them a mockery.”

“We have creators who do something like that. They’re called satirists. They produce parodies. That, too, is an art form.”

“He says I’m an imperfect imitation of him, and I need to go away.”

Victor chuckled. “An imperfect author?” He reached out and picked up a book–old, leather-bound, dog-eared from many readings. “It’s funny. I was just reading a play–”

“A play?” asked the boy.

Victor nodded. “A story, meant to be acted out by a group of people. In this play, the author–his name was Shakespeare–created a character who was also an author who wrote plays. Many people call him an imperfect copy, a parody of Shakespeare.”

“And that is what I must be as well. Did this character have a name?”

“Quince,” said Victor. “Peter Quince.”

“Quince,” echoed the boy, as if trying it on for size. “Peter Quince. Do people sometimes take the names of other people, like characters in plays?”

“Sometimes.”

He looked at Victor with a sincerity only the very young and very bright can manage. “Then that is who I am. You asked me if I had a name. I shall be named Quince.”

“I approve of your choice. You’re starting to see the importance of names,” observed Victor. “And you’re starting to see us as individuals. Why?”

The boy, now self-christened Quince, drew up his knees and rested his chin on them. A child-like posture, Victor was certain his own body could not manage.

“I–I made mistakes.”

“The Author said you wiped out worlds.”

“Not on purpose! I was trying to make things better. So I made big changes–rewrote histories. I didn’t see that changing one element of one person’s life could change a whole world–or even cause a world not to come into being at all. The universe looks so big, but you learn that the important things, the key moments and people, can be very, very small.”

He looked past Victor, as if gazing at something miles away. He was lost in memory. “It was a solar system inhabited by a people with a name you couldn’t pronounce. They weren’t like you at all, except that they were alive and intelligent. They had been born on one world, and they’d spread to five more. At the height of their civilization, a nearby star was going to die in a supernova. They discovered it too late to save themselves. It was going to wipe out all life on all their worlds.

“I–I changed history. I altered the properties of that star.”

“What happened?” asked Victor gently, sensing Quince didn’t want to go on.

“I hadn’t realized that radiation from that nearby star had quickened life on one of its planets. That planet was long dead when I arrived, but the civilization I wanted to save was actually born in that other system. By altering the star, I prevented life from beginning.” He hung his head. “I wiped out seven worlds.”

“And why, if this Author is so outraged, did he not simply bring those worlds back? Unmake the changes you made?”

“It doesn’t work that way. He can’t. Once a change is made, it’s permanent. I can’t fix my mistakes, and neither can he.”

“But you propose to make changes to our reality now, even against that risk?”

“It will be different this time. I’ve placed myself among you. That makes me vulnerable, but it also allows me to truly know you. In my weakness, there is strength. I understand now the value of one world, of one person. I can help.”

“And what if we don’t want your help? Will you force it on us?”

“Please don’t be offended, but I’m smarter than any of you.”

In fact, Victor was delighted with the boy’s directness. “I don’t doubt it. But, in deciding for others what was best for them, you violated the free will of intelligent beings. That was your mistake. That’s why they’re gone.”

Quince swallowed. “You think I’m a murderer. I’ve read your laws. You think I’m evil.”

Victor shook his head. “I’m a scientist. I don’t make such judgments.” Self-consciously, he rubbed the fingers of one hand over his breastbone. “Some say my emotions left me when my artificial heart was implanted. But, at any rate, it’s better for me not to become overwrought. I find an intellectual response more constructive than an indignant one. So tell me, Quince, what does your moral code say?”

“We don’t have one. The Author erases people and worlds all the time as it pleases him. He doesn’t want revenge for any sort of crime. He just wants me out of his way.” The boy looked suddenly sad. “And that’s what’s going to happen. The Author is going to wipe me out. You have no choice but to let him have me. He’ll erase you all, if you don’t.”

“Can’t you somehow elude him?”

“Maybe, but he’s powerful.”

“What if,” said Victor, thinking aloud, “you could make a change of realities… that applied to yourself?”

“You mean, could I make it so he couldn’t wipe me out? It’s never been tried. The cost is high. The power we’re born with… I might lose it.”

“But if you could?” asked Victor.

Quince looked at him for a long moment. “Could I stay here?”

The question intrigued Victor. “Why?”

“Because–I like talking to you. My people don’t talk this way. We don’t talk at all. We exchange information directly.”

“You mean mental telepathy, exchanging thoughts.”

“That comes close, but your people envision telepathy as being something like a silent conversation. It has order and flow. It’s sequential. For us, there’s no back and forth. If we want someone’s knowledge, we ask for it. If we’re the more powerful mind, we might just take it. We process that knowledge alone, like your computer does. That’s why the Author thinks it’s the smartest one on Alpha. It thinks the way we do–solitary and selfish.”

Victor mused, “Individual, and isolated, yet with no sympathy for the individual members of other races.”

“But you talk _to_ me, Victor. You all do. And you listen when I answer. Well, all except that Mr. Verdeschi.” Quince made a face that suggested nausea. “I don’t like him.”

Victor smiled at the boy’s frankness. It rated equal candor. “I don’t think he likes you very much, either.”

“With you, though, it’s different. It’s–something I’ve never encountered before, this give and take. If I had to stay one place for the rest of my life, I’d want it to be here.”

Berman smiled sadly. “I wish it were possible.”

Quince sat up. “But I have to deal in reality, don’t I? If you had only minutes left to live, Victor, what would you do?”

Victor thought about it. “I suppose I’d… have a good cigar. Drink a brandy. Spend time with friends.”

“What if you could change things? What if you had my power? What if you could give a gift to someone?”

“What sort of gift, Quince?”

“What would you change about your life, Victor? If you could change one thing, what would it be?”

Victor just smiled and shook his head. “I could spend years analyzing that question and never answer it. I don’t think I’d change a thing.”

Quince looked at him intensely. “I can think of one thing.”

* * *

A command conference had been called in Koenig’s office. He faced his senior people around the table and cursed himself for what he had to say.

“We have no options. When the time comes, when that–whatever it is–returns, we give the boy to him.”

Helena fixed her eyes on Koenig’s, a slight tremor in her voice as she said, “He’ll be killed.”

“Helena, don’t you think I know that? But the alternative is we all die.”

“Worse than die,” said Paul Morrow. “We cease to exist utterly.”

There was a moment’s silence. There was nothing to add. Koenig saw in their faces the shadow of his own defeat, his own self-condemnation.

“We really know so little about him,” said Sandra Benes. “The medical data Dr. Russell has gathered shows he’s human. Little more.”

“Human with an amazing healing factor,” said Alan Carter.

“And an ability to communicate with Computer on levels even I don’t understand,” added David Kano.

“Anything in the salvaged data from the Voyager tapes?” asked Koenig, “Or the records shared with us by Captain Zantor and his people? Has a race like his been seen before?”

“No,” said Kano. “Unless you count mythological references to gods.”

The was an alarm from the nearby comm post. As heads turned, text flashed on the tiny monitor, and Computer’s cold voice read out:

MEDICAL EMERGENCY. PROFESSOR VICTOR BERGMAN. ARTIFICIAL HEART FUNCTIONS CEASED.

Panic seized Koenig. For an instant, he couldn’t breathe. He had dreaded this day, had nightmares about it. His old friend was dependent on fragile, human technology. Someday, Koenig knew, it had to give.

He forced himself to remain calm, and turned to a wide-eyed Helena Russell, who was already up, calling her team, starting for the door.

Koenig followed her at a run. The others scattered, nervous energy causing them to want to move with no destination in mind. Midway into her charge for the exit, Helena Russell vanished in a flash of light that was becoming all too familiar.

Koenig called out her name, then ripped his commlock from his belt, keyed the Computer interface and demanded, “What is Helena Russell’s location?”

The response was immediate:

PROFESSOR BERGMAN’S LABORATORY.

Koenig broke and ran.

* * *

When Koenig arrived in the lab, he found Helena kneeling over Victor’s prone form. Her face revealed nothing of their friend’s condition. She was immersed in examination, and yet he noticed she had not begun resuscitation, which was odd.

Beyond them, Verdeschi and the alien boy stared each other down over the squared-off form of a stun gun. Koenig saw that, despite its harmless name, it was set to fire a killing charge.

“Verdeschi, report,” said Koenig.

The young Italian’s words were clipped. “He’s killed the Professor.”

“I didn’t!” said the boy. “He’s not dead. Dr. Russell will tell you–”

“Helena?”

“John, I need quiet,” snapped Helena Russell. “Take those two and get out of here!”

“But Victor–”

“Now,” she said with greater force than he’d ever heard from her.

The commander of hundreds of men and women traditionally did not take orders from a subordinate, but this was a medical emergency. In this case, Helena Russell was in absolute charge. “Come on,” he said to Verdeschi, jerking his head toward the door. To the boy, in the interests of expedience, he said with a friendly tone, “It will help Victor if you’ll come with us.”

The boy nodded and followed.

Helena, who had begun ignoring them as soon as she’d ordered them out, called after him as they cleared the door. “John, wait.”

Koenig signaled the others to remain in the corridor.

“What is it?” Koenig asked.

Helena Russell sat back on her heels. Her eyes showed the faintest trace of moisture, and her mouth was open in an expression of astonishment. “He’s alive,” she said.

“Is he in danger?” asked Koenig. “Is he–?”

Helena held up her hands. “He’s fine, he’s better than fine, he–”

“Then what the hell was the alert about? Why did Computer say his artificial heart had stopped?”

“Because it has stopped, John.” It was Victor’s voice, a little gruff, but loud and clear.

The Professor sat up, Helena fussing over him and insisting on holding him by the arm and shoulders as he did. He smiled and waved her off.

“My artificial heart has stopped–forever. You see, I have a real one again.” He tapped his chest in satisfaction, and winked at the boy hovering nervously in the door. “And John,” he added, “we have something of a plan.”

* * *

Sue Crawford exited a private cubicle in Medical Centre feeling, if not refreshed, at least calm. Dr. Russell had ordered supervised rest in one of the rooms used for decompression and de-stress. It was not unheard-of for Alpha’s chief physician to order a patient to meditate, listen to calming music, or even do a course of yoga to improve her health. In this case, after Sue’s near-hysterical response to the alien boy, the Doctor had ordered her to sleep, reassuring her that one of the nurses would watch her son.

It had been four hours, and it was time to collect her little boy. Sue always felt anxious, picking up Jackie. Would the edge of fear she felt when she looked at him ever go away?

Walking through the open ward, she saw a figure seated on one of the beds. Its body language said it was bored, sitting up, legs hanging over the edge, kicking idly back and forth. Sue approached and froze as she recognized the boy from the darkened corridor. A small gasp escaped her.

The boy turned and smiled. “Please don’t be afraid. I didn’t mean to frighten you before. My name’s Quince.” He stood and started toward her.

Sue backed up a couple of steps.

The boy sat back down on the bed, facing her. “All right, I promise I won’t come near you. But Mr. Verdeschi ordered me not to leave this room, and I’m trying to learn to cooperate. And it’s boring. Won’t you stay for a moment and talk to me?”

“I have to get my baby,” said Sue quickly. For the second time today, her voice sounded shrill in her own ears. This boy made her nervous. His very appearance brought back the fear. But was it fear of an alien, a potential invader? Or was it still fear of her own flesh and blood? Impatient with her own emotions, she determined not to back down, not to let this alien rattle her. “My son’s in the nursery, you see. Someone’s watching him for me.”

“His name is Jackie. I like him. Could you bring him to see me?”

“I–I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I understand. I know I frightened you, and I didn’t mean to. I just want to do something to make up for it.” He studied her face, his gaze burning with an intensity that wasn’t at all threatening, but which still unnerved Sue. “Please… tell me something that you want. What would make things better for you?”

She laughed coldly. “To live on a new world? To have my child’s father alive again–”

“I promised Victor I wouldn’t do anything that drastic.”

“You promised–” Her voice trailed off as she realized that the boy had taken her humorless joke seriously. Did he really believe he could raise the dead? Change the Moon in its course? She relaxed slightly, realizing the poor kid was probably mad. “As long as my baby is okay, I don’t need anything.”

“Is that why you were so frightened when I appeared?” he asked. “Because you thought I’d hurt Jackie?”

“Partially,” she admitted. An overwhelming impulse pushed her to be honest, to tell this lunatic child the unvarnished truth. Why? What power did he have? Whatever it was, she told him, “I’m afraid for Jackie. I’m also… ” Her voice caught, but she managed, “I’m afraid _of_ him. What kind of monster is afraid of her own child?”

“Is that a riddle?” asked Quince.

“No,” Sue laughed at the encounter between her own self-pity and the alien boy’s innocence. “No, it’s a very silly question.” She started for the door. “I should get Jackie–”

“Wait,” said Quince. “I don’t think it’s silly to question your feelings. Your fear is strong. Why are you afraid?”

She’d already talked this to death with Dr. Russell. She knew all she could do was try to make hers and Jackie’s life as normal as possible, to try to forget. Still, she told Quince, “The day Jackie was born, fugitives from another world took control of his body. They aged him. He grew to adulthood in a day. While he was growing, he was… evil. He wanted me dead. I can’t forget the hatred that was in his eyes, and they’re the same eyes.”

“Would you like to forget?” asked Quince.

She looked up from where she had lowered her face into her hands. “Is that possible?”

“Yes. Before I met you, I would have simply erased the past events. But changing the past could ruin your future. I can take away your memory of the terror, of the pain, without making you forget the events themselves.”

She shook her head. “I shouldn’t.”

Quince reached out and took her hand. “Please. My own people want to kill me. Commander Koenig may have no choice but to let them. This may be the last thing I ever do.” When she did not resist, he took her other hand, stood, and stepped close to her. Looking into her eyes, he said, “Show me your memories. Show me your fear.”

And she showed him an image of a five-year-old boy with Jackie’s clear green eyes, beautiful and terrible. This other Jackie did not speak, could not hear, but his eyes watched everything. Green eyes had burned into Sue’s, and once again she felt the terror, the chest-ripping horror, the delight in those eyes as she died of fright.

And then she felt it all slip away.

* * *

Sue carried Jackie down the corridor toward their quarters. He was getting too big to carry, and in fact Kano had had Technical design and build a stroller for her. Also, Jackie was starting to pull up on furniture, and was trying his first, tentative steps. He’d be walking soon. Still, tonight, she wanted to carry him, wanted to be close to him.

She didn’t know why she’d been so especially glad to see him this particular evening. In some ways, when he’d looked up at her from amidst a field of toys and smiled–his father’s smile–it was like she was seeing him for the first time. He was her baby, her future, and she’d never felt it so strongly.

As she opened the door, she snuggled him close, kissed his hair and whispered, “It’s you and me against the universe, kid.”

“Sue?” Michael Keel, coming from the travel tube station at the other end of the corridor, called to her.

She smiled. “Evening, Mike. How’s life in the Eagle hangars?”

“Fine.” He looked warily at her. “Are you okay? Earlier you seemed–”

“Wildly emotional and needy? I know, and I’m sorry for coming apart on you.”

He grinned, and perhaps blushed a little. “My shoulder’s always here when you need it.”

“Dr. Russell thinks I just had a mild anxiety attack. Seeing that boy appear in the shadows–I guess I’ve read one too many ghost stories. But she arranged to keep Jackie for a while and I got some rest.”

“And you’re okay?”

Sue smiled even more broadly. For some reason, tonight, she couldn’t stop smiling. “Michael, I’ve never been better.”

* * *

Verdeschi escorted Quince into the Medical ward, holding him firmly by the arm. The boy looked first to where Victor reclined on an exam couch, looking fit and rested.

“Is he all right?” Quince asked Helena Russell. “I didn’t do anything damaging, did I?”

“You didn’t,” Helena confirmed. “Victor has a healthy, strong, human heart.”

“I didn’t change his past,” said Quince.

“No,” said Victor, smiling. “I’ve still got all the lessons I learned from being a cybernetic man.”

“All right, Quince,” said John Koenig abruptly, “Victor’s told us about your plan.”

“I can do it,” said Quince. “I can make myself fully human. It means giving up my powers–”

“If your friend recognizes you–”

“He’s not my friend. He’s a monster.”

“Still, if he detects that you’re here, we’re all dead.”

“He won’t. He told you himself he can’t even tell humans apart. I’ll be human. My unique energy signature as a higher being will be gone from Alpha.”

“Quince,” said Helena, “you’re giving up your power. Are you also giving up immortality?”

“Yes,” said Quince. “Eventually I’ll die, like any of you. But I’ll have lived. You’ll remember me. Others will remember me. That’s better than being wiped from the face of history.”

“You’re asking me to take a very big chance, Quince,” said Koenig. “300 lives are on the line, and I don’t have any assurance that you can do what you say you’re going to do.”

“You don’t trust me,” said Quince.

“I can’t afford to trust anyone,” said Koenig.

Quince looked around the room. “Do you all feel that way?

They were all silent, except Verdeschi. “I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Or maybe that’s a bad analogy, because I could throw you pretty far.”

“John,” said Victor quietly, drawing him and Helena into a loose huddle. “It’s your decision, but I think we should risk it.”

“Why, Victor?”

“Because,” Victor paused a moment, and seemed to be measuring his words carefully. “Because he’s like us. He’s a lost soul, cast out from his home into a dangerous universe. If we’re going to survive out here, we’re going to need the compassion of other species to do it. Do we have the right to offer any less?”

“I think that human heart has made you into a poet,” said Koenig.

“Victor’s right, John,” said Helena. “I know it’s not the safe choice, but it’s the compassionate one.”

Koenig looked at her with none of the warmth he might have showed at any other time. It was a mask he put on. When command decisions had to be made, he didn’t play favorites. She was used to it. It still hurt. “Are you willing to take responsibility for everyone else’s life?”

She met his gaze, and hoped her tone was as strong as his sounded. “I take lives into my hands every day, Commander. And you do the same, in even greater numbers.”

“Don’t argue over me,” said Quince behind them.

They turned to reply, and, as they did so, a gentle, orange light warmed the room. It emanated from the boy, bathing him, causing him briefly to glow. He straightened and stretched within it, like a sunbather. When it faded, he seemed weakened. His stance was slumped a bit, his skin tone a touch ashen.

“I’ve made my decision,” Quince said. “I’ll be one of you. If you choose to hand me over to the Author, I’ll go as a human.”

Helena moved to the boy’s side–quickly, for he looked as if he might stumble at any moment. She took his arms and guided him to a bed.

“What did he do?” asked Koenig.

“I’m not sure,” said Helena. Quickly, she placed two sensors on the boy’s forehead and activated the bed’s monitoring systems. “It appears that he’s altered his cellular structure. I detect no sign of the enhanced brain function I saw when I first examined him. The unique regenerative properties of his cells aren’t there either.” She looked up at Koenig. “He’s truly human now.”

“It’s a trick,” said Verdeschi.

Koenig eyed the security officer carefully. “Then you think we should hand him over?”

“I think we shouldn’t throw away our lives in someone else’s battle.” He nodded at the weakened figure on the bed. “He can walk around the universe like it’s his own personal playground. Let him escape on his own.”

“Dr. Russell just said that he no longer can, Mr. Verdeschi,” said Victor.

“He can make us see whatever he wants us to.”

Quince looked at the guard and his eyes flashed momentarily with anger. “Then see this,” he practically spat out.

Helena saw Koenig stiffen. If Verdeschi was right, if Quince was faking, then he still had all his dreadful power. He might be about to wipe Tony Verdeschi out of existence.

Instead, the boy reached to a supply tray next to his bed and secured a surgical scalpel. Helena gasped and tried to get to him, to stop him. She moved too slowly. The boy had already made two, quick, clean cuts on each of his wrists. Blood began to soak his pants and the cover of the bed.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked. He looked down at the torn flesh. His eyes widened and he went pale as he saw the blood. In typically human fashion, he fell, unconscious, against Victor.


	4. ACT THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Author, a godlike being angered at the Alphans for attempting to help Quince, decrees that seven Alphans must die.

The Author was prompt in his appearance. He materialized in the center of Main Mission and glared at Tanya Alexander. “Well, Koenig, have you made your choice?”

Koenig stepped forward, interposing himself between Tanya and the alien. “The boy has made it for us. He’s gone.”

The Author stared for a moment. Perhaps he was attempting to read Koenig’s facial expression, perhaps his mind. Perhaps he was merely scanning the base with his own extrasensory abilities. When he spoke, he said, “You’re lying.”

Koenig made a sweeping gesture. “You can search anywhere you like. You won’t find him here.”

As if in answer to Koenig’s invitation, the floor beneath him began to vibrate. The rumbling sensation felt like nothing so much as the beginnings of the explosion and shock wave which had blown the Moon out of Earth’s orbit, nearly a year ago.

“What are you doing?” Koenig demanded.

The Author smiled blandly. “I am doing nothing. That is to say, I am taking no action against you. I am applying resistance against an effort to act. Someone is attempting to move your world, to hide it from me. That is how I knew you were lying.”

“Commander,” said Paul Morrow, “it’s very strange. For a moment, our instruments indicated a change in position, as though we were on the other side of the galaxy.”

“You were farther than that,” said the Author. “But you will not escape me so easily.”

The floor beneath Koenig pitched, and, around him, people were thrown to the floor. He felt as though he were standing on liquid. He’d been through earthquakes and planet-quakes. This felt like one.

“Stop it!” he said to the Author.

“I am stopping it. You may wish that I had not. He’s still trying to transport you.”

“He?”

The shaking ceased. The Author made no move. He stood with his fingers laced in front of him. “You’re a fool, Koenig. You know who is doing this. You know the boy is here.” One index finger raised ever-so-slightly. There was a flash behind Koenig.

Turning, he saw Quince, bandaged and pale.

The Author regarded him and asked “What have you done?”

Quince took a step forward, his voice trembling. “I’ve damaged this human vessel. It was a unique experience. It felt… pain. _I_ felt pain.”

“I have no interest in your physical form. Your power, it’s fading. What did you do?”

“I surrendered it,” said Quince. “I am human now. I’m no longer one of you.”

Koenig turned on the boy. “If you surrendered your power, then what the hell just happened?”

Quince looked on the verge of tears. “I–I lied to you. I kept my power until he arrived.” He nodded at the Author. “I was going to step us all away from him. And then, once I was human, we’d have been lost to him forever. I couldn’t do it before he arrived. I had to catch him in the moment of change, so that I could erase us from his very mind.”

The Author walked a circle around the boy and said, approvingly, “It was a worthy gamble. You almost succeeded. If I were not more powerful, you would have. As it is, you have now burned yourself out.”

“Why did you lie, Quince?” asked Koenig.

“I didn’t think you would let me try,” he said.

“You were right,” said Koenig bitterly.

“I wanted to help you,” the boy protested, “to do it right this time.” He looked to the Author. “I surrender myself. Take me. I am yours to do with as you will. But spare these creatures.”

“I had intended to wipe you all out of existence,” said the Author.

“There is no need,” said Quince. “They cannot harm you. Neither can I, but I know you must exact your revenge. Do it to me, then. They are innocent of wrongdoing.”

“Innocence,” scoffed the Author. “An overrated commodity, if ever there was one. Innocence merely indicates that a creature has not learned the hard lessons of reality. And we must all learn those lessons. Further, I cannot leave in existence beings that believe they have defeated any of our kind. We cannot allow that arrogance.”

“Arrogance?” Quince’s voice broke, and tears flew from his eyes as he advanced on the Author. “You speak of arrogance in others? You are the most arrogant, power-mad creature in existence. You think you are a god.”

“I do not know what that means. What is a god?”

Before any of them could reply, Computer spoke:

A GOD IS AN ALL-POWERFUL BEING WHICH CREATES SUBSTANCE FROM NOTHINGNESS. A GOD PASSES JUDGMENT ON MORTAL BEINGS.

“Really? Well, then certainly I am one. I can create. I can destroy. And now, I pass judgment.”

“Wait,” said Koenig.

“There is no staying your sentence, Koenig. You and this creature have earned my wrath, and you shall suffer it. However,” he paused and smiled coldly. “I shall not destroy you. I shall let you live to know your defeat. I shall exact a price from you–one life for each world this Pretender destroyed.”

“Then take mine,” said Koenig. Behind him, others stepped forward–Helena, Victor, Paul. He looked at them. “No. Not any of you. Alpha needs you.” He looked back to the author. “Take my life, and–”

“You shall not choose the dead, Koenig. Nor can I choose from among you. Even if I could tell you apart, I cannot be troubled to learn the relative value of each of you. But there is one among you who can choose, who knows which losses would cause the most pain, the most damage.”

“None of us would make that decision for you,” said Helena Russell.

“None of you who call yourselves human,” conceded the Author. “You are too rebellious, too full of your own illusion of free will. But there is a being among you–the smartest among you–who is accustomed to following instructions. I will ask the question, and it will answer.”

“Oh, God,” murmured David Kano.

“The choice shall be made,” said the Author. “You will feel the pain of their loss, and you will never forget it.”

Computer spoke.

CONSIDERING ALL FACTORS, THE SEVEN ALPHANS WHOSE ABSENCE WILL MOST HINDER THE EFFORT TO SURVIVE IN SPACE ARE AS FOLLOWS:

And she began to read off the names.

* * *

Upon Sue’s return to her quarters, she and Mike had stood in the corridor talking for so long that Jackie had grown restless. It seemed silly to stand with a toddler pulling at her leg. At the same time, she hadn’t engaged in adult conversation with someone–much less a man who seemed interested in her–for a long time. She had invited him in for coffee. As Jackie played, burbled and cruised along the edge of the table, back and forth between them, they’d spent a pleasant few minutes just… talking.

Mike grinned as Jackie offered him a piece of half-eaten cookie he’d found under the couch. The pilot took it gingerly and held it up for study. “Why thank you, Mr. Crawford,” he said. “You’ve quite an eye for geological oddities.”

Jackie fixed his eyes on Mike’s and said firmly, “Ba!”

“I’ll have to take you at your word,” said Mike. He smiled at Sue. “He’ll be accompanying me on survey missions in no time.” He mussed the boy’s dark hair as Sue collected the empty cups and offered more coffee.

“You know, Jackie,” Mike said as she moved to the side table, “one of these days–”

Sue grinned at the easy banter. Mike really was good with her son. “One of these days what?” she asked, turning.

She almost dropped the cup. As it was, it shook in her hands and splashed hot liquid on them. Mike was gone.

“Mike?” she said out loud. He was not in the room. He’d had no time to leave, and she would have heard the door open if he had. Was he hiding? Playing a game with Jackie? After looking behind the couch, she knelt and said to the boy, “Baby, where did Mike go? Are you playing a game?”

Jackie just giggled. She took his hand, stood, and said, “Michael, seriously, where are you?”

Jackie’s hand slipped from hers. No, not slipped, just… vanished. One moment it was warm–perhaps a little too warm–in her grasp; the next it was gone. She looked down, and, with horror, realized that Jackie, like Michael, was no longer there. A frantic search of the room revealed nothing, nor did she expect it to. There was no possibility he’d just crawled away. His hand had… dematerialized.

Tears in her eyes, Sue pulled the commlock from her belt. “Security. Security, please answer! My son is missing, and Michael Keel–”

Tony Verdeschi’s face appeared on the tiny screen. Even in monochrome it looked ashen. “Sue,” he said, his voice raw, “Sue, I need you to remain calm…”

* * *

Paul Morrow was not a man given to displays of emotion. He knew that his friends and co-workers often dismissed him as a cold fish. He wasn’t, truly. He was a man of profound faith who believed in a destiny for himself and the human race. He was capable, he know, of becoming inflamed with passion when he spoke about the future, and his place in it. He could be harshly defensive if he felt his family or friends were being defensive. More than once, Alan Carter had looked at him with a smile and said, “You’re a scary sonofabitch when you want to be, Morrow, you know that?” On the job, however, Paul always stayed calm. Anger and passion didn’t help you make decisions under pressure.

It was an effort now, however, to keep his air of calm. Already, Computer had read off two names, those of Michael Keel and Jackie Crawford.

Michael was a good man, a solid man. He liked to call himself the rock of the Eagle survey teams, and delighted in the way others groaned at the pun. His knowledge, his long experience–many pilots died exploring new worlds, seeking a home for the Alphans–made him Alan Carter’s right hand. He was also popular with his female colleagues. Someday, when they settled down, Michael Keel was going to be the father of many second-generation Alphans.

Or he would have been.

Jackie Crawford _was_ Alpha’s second generation, her firstborn. He was their hope for the future.

Jackie Crawford was gone, and hope with him. On her secondary monitors, Computer reported the disappearance of his and Mike’s telemetry signals from the base.

Paul saw Sandra’s face fall as she read the little boy’s name on the screen. She was his favorite “aunt,” and adored the child. Sandra wanted children of her own. This was a blow to her most treasured wish. Paul wrapped an arm around her and drew her close. The next name would appear soon, and another Alphan would be lost. He wondered who it would be, dreaded who it would be. His grip tightened on the woman whose children he hoped someday to father. The name appeared.

PAUL MORROW.

He looked to Sandra, wanting to tell her–

* * *

A stab of pain shook Tanya Alexander’s chest as Paul vanished from her sight. They were not lovers. Well, they were not anymore. There had been that one time, when they believed Alpha was dying, and Sandra was gone. She knew it was Sandra he loved, and her respect for them both caused Tanya to keep her distance. Sandra was a good woman and a good friend.

Still, the stabbing realization of what might have been hit Tanya as Paul vanished. Dead. Gone. Stress and shock can cause the muscles to tense and worse.

 _God,_ she thought, _don’t let me be having a heart attack on top of everything._

A scream from Sandra pulled Tanya’s focus away from her fears. The diminutive woman backed away slowly from where he’d been. Sandra was quivering in disbelief. Helena Russell was rushing to offer aid, but Tanya was closer. She started for Sandra as Computer read the next name. Tanya did not register whose it was. She only wanted to get to her friend.

But Sandra was making eye contact with her now, and he expression of shock switched to one of pity and sorrow. Why was Sandra looking at her like that?

Then the name registered. Sometimes were hear sounds but don’t process them until a few seconds later. Only as she winked out of existence did her brain acknowledge that Computer had just said TANYA ALEXANDER.

* * *

“Stop this,” David Kano begged. He knew he was begging and he knew it was foolish. He was demanding mercy of an artificial intelligence. Mercy was beyond her programming. Still, he continued, urgently trying to interrupt the running program and get Computer’s attention.

The Commander was shouting something at the alien Author. The boy was pleading as well. Kano couldn’t hear them. He had to stop Computer from participating in this slaughter, he _had_ to.

Kano felt tears coming to his own eyes. For a frantic moment, he considered drawing his stun gun and firing it at the most vulnerable point in Computer’s Main Mission interface. It would not permanently damage her, but it would stop all readouts for a time.

How could she do this? Intellectually he knew, she was just responding to programming. Emotionally, Computer was his partner, his friend. That she could turn on the others riddled him with guilt. He’d so long considered her thoughts to be his, his actions to be hers.

It was with a kind of desperate relief that he recognized the next name on the list:

DAVID KANO.

* * *

Victor Bergman closed his eyes and tried to process all that was happening. The deaths of three friends in front of him, good people all. The loss of a child and a courageous explorer. For years he’d practiced techniques to calm the seething tide of emotion within him–deep breathing, meditation, yoga. He had to, his surgeon had insisted. He had to stay calm or die. His surgeon was light years away now, and possibly dead. Helena had maintained the litany. “Remember your heart, Victor. You’ve got to be careful.”

His artificial heart was gone now. He didn’t have to be careful. He could feel like any other man with a new, perfect heart.

Only he didn’t know how any more. He wanted to feel sorrow. He wanted to feel rage. He wanted to sink to his knees in despair at the unfairness of the universe. He’d spent a decade training all of that away.

Now all he could feel was a pervasive regret at the death of hope, and compassion for the survivors.

So it was only compassion he felt when Computer read the penultimate name, and it was his own.

He saw the shock on the faces of John Koenig and Helena Russell. He saw Koenig shoot forward to where Victor stood with Helena, the two of them flanking him as always. He felt pain as Koenig seized his arms, squeezing tight. He saw Helena’s head shake in denial.

All he could do in the final moment was offer comfort to his dear friends. He managed a gentle smile and gave the faintest shake of his head to let them know there was nothing to be done. “They have you, John, Helena,” he said. “That’s all they–”

* * *

Swearing, fuming with rage, Alan Carter flung himself at the towering alien. Koenig caught him, thankful for the distraction. Had Alan not acted impulsively and given him a defensive action to pursue. Otherwise, he would have attacked the smug bastard himself.

“Commander, we’ve got to stop them!” said Alan.

John Koenig was not given to despair, but right now he saw no hope. Victor was gone. Six of his people were gone, dead. Two more would follow. He could not stop it. He could only hope…

He’d reflected earlier that Alpha could survive without him. She could be led by a different Commander. Paul Morrow. Alan Carter. Helena. The heart, the soul of the community, though, was none of them. The loss that would cripple was not a member of the command staff.

He’d tried to reassure himself that it was just an emotional judgment. Cold, emotionless Computer surely wouldn’t have the same sense of a person’s value that human John Koenig did.

He had never been so sorry to see his emotional responses justified by objective analysis. Computer had chosen Victor, no doubt for the same reasons Koenig would have.

Beside Koenig, Helena was weeping quietly. Koenig himself was just numb, his senses, his emotions, overloaded. And still the madness was not over. Still there was one name left. Dispassionate to the last, Computer read the name of the final Alphan to die.

THIS UNIT.

Main Mission went dark. That is to say, the ceiling lights stayed on; the desk lamps were still lit; but every display, every indicator that depended on Computer for data or power winked off. The Author had told Computer to pick the Alphans whose absence would hurt the most. The Author considered Computer to be a living entity no less than the human occupants of the base. It made sense that the machine would include itself on the list of those to die. Dispassionate to the last, without even an impulse for self-preservation.

“Without Computer we’re blind,” Koenig said to the Author. “You’ve killed us all.”

“Very likely,” the alien agreed. “But you will still have existed, a testament to the folly of presuming to defy us. Additionally, I leave you the Pretender. Suffering his presence will be an additional burden. He is human now. Let him die with you.”

The boy stepped forward, anger etched in crimson on his face. Before he could speak, however, there was a shriek from one of the twin doorways leading to Main Mission. The shriek contained one word, and the word was, “Murderer.”

In its wake, Sue Crawford flew at the Author, hands raised and balled to fists. She beat frantically on the alien’s chest, sobbing, hysterical.

“What is the purpose of this exercise?” asked the Author with indifference. He did not seem to understand that Sue was attempting to harm him, or why she would do so.

“My baby–you killed my baby!”

“Baby?” wondered the Author.

Helena Russell’s voice was tight savagery. Her every syllable conveyed that she wished, like Sue, to flay this creature alive. “Her child. She is Jackie Crawford’s mother.”

“Ah, of course. Biological reproduction, I’d forgotten. It does create an emotional bond, doesn’t it?”

“Take me,” said Sue. She fell to her knees in front of the towering figure. “Kill me with my child.”

“That is not the point of the demonstration,” said the Author as if he were explaining the use of a can opener. “You are meant to suffer his loss.”

Sue Crawford curled into a fetal position and wept pitifully. The only words she could manage were, “Oh God.” She said them over and over again.

“Yes,” said the Author, “I am a God. And you have tried my patience.”

Helena went to Sue and gathered the woman in her arms. Quince came to stand over them protectively. “You’re a monster,” he said to the Author.

“You, who erased destinies on so many worlds, call me this?”

“I made mistakes in ignorance. I painlessly erased lives. And I offer my own existence now in atonement. You are torturing these creatures. I won’t let you continue.” He looked at Sue Crawford and, with a catch in his voice, said, “I’m sorry. All I can do is make the pain go away.”

He gestured with his hand. Sue Crawford was gone.

A feral smile lit the face of the Author. “Deceitful to the last. Twice now you’ve claimed your powers were gone, and twice you have lied.” He pointed a dark-gloved finger at the empty space where Helena Russell sat shocked, her arms no longer enfolding a patient. “And this, I suppose is mercy? Not that it matters particularly. They will die soon. But I see you must be erased.”

“You’ll have to catch me,” said Quince.

There was a flash of golden light, and he was gone.

Seconds behind him, the Author likewise disappeared.

Behind them stood the Alphans, stunned. Alan Carter held a sobbing Sandra Benes. Tony Verdeschi, who had made his way to Main Mission while the deaths were occurring, looked to Koenig as if for direction. Helena Russell rocked back on her heels and leaned against the legs of a desk, her face pale and tear-streaked.

“Is it over?” asked Alan. “Are they gone?”

“They defeated us,” said Verdeschi. “That’s all they wanted.”

“And what do we do now?” asked Sandra.

Koenig said the only thing he could think to say. Perhaps it was the obvious thing to say, perhaps it was the ultimate declaration of defiance. It was all he had.

“We survive.”


	5. ACT FOUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumours of our deaths...

ACT FOUR

Victor Bergman was pleasantly surprised to find that he was not dead. He was also mildly surprised to find that he was still on the Moon, although not on Alpha. More of Quince’s trickery? He looked around him at the small room in which he’d appeared–as far as he knew–instantly after vanishing from Main Mission. He glanced out the viewports at a familiar lunar landscape, festooned with slagged heaps of white metal, scarred from a firestorm. He knew this place. He’d last been here months ago. Really, this was where everything had begun.

How could these buildings possibly have survived?

There was a flash of light behind him, then another. He didn’t have to turn around to confirm their source.

“Professor!” It was David Kano’s voice. “How did we get here?”

Beside Kano were Paul Morrow and Tanya Alexander.

“Did the Author decide not to kill us?” asked Tanya.

“I suspect Quince’s interference,” said Victor. “Multiple times he told us he was merely human.”

“I can’t abide liars,” said Paul, “but in this case I shan’t quibble.”

Two more flashes brought Michael Keel and little Jackie Crawford among them.

“Oh, thank God,” Tanya sighed, and started forward to pick up the child.

Another flash lit her as she did so. Sue Crawford, it seemed, was barely fully formed among them before she was moving, tearfully throwing her arms about Jackie and taking him from Tanya.

The others stepped away to give mother and child a moment to themselves. Tanya looked around at their surroundings. “Where is this place? I’ve never seen it.”

“This is Nuclear Waste Disposal Area Two,” said Michael, noting the moonscape. “I did my pilot training here.”

“Impossible,” said Paul. “Area Two went critical–detonated and blew the Moon out of orbit. This building was destroyed in the blast, surely.” He looked momentarily confused. “No, I _know_ it was. I saw the survey data myself, just days after we left orbit.”

“It’s intact,” said Kano. He studied the panels on the opposite wall. “And apparently fully operational. It had its own generating facilities, separate from Alpha. I wonder–” He moved eagerly toward a computer interface station. “Computer, report on Nuclear Waste Area Two Monitoring Station. How did it survive the events of September 13, 1999?”

Nothing appeared on the display, but Computer’s voice answered. Its tones were less clipped. It spoke with inflection, as if it voice synthesis routine had been upgraded. It had the warm voice of the woman who must have originally laid down the speech phonemes for its programming.

“I’m sorry, Dave,” it said. “I can’t do that.”

Victor laughed despite himself. A few of the others were too young to understand the reference.

Kano’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“I believe that was a joke,” said Victor.

“I know what it was,” said Kano with a trace of indignation. “I’ve seen every film and read every work of fiction about artificial intelligence. But, Computer, who programmed you to–”

“I was not programmed to say that, David,” said Computer. “I just thought it was funny.”

“It was, in fact,” said Paul.

Kano threw up his hands. “I don’t understand what’s happening here.”

“I’d hazard a guess,” said Victor. “Computer, were you, like us, dematerialized and transported away from Alpha?”

“Not like you, Professor. In my case, there was no physical body to move. My programming, my memories, are all electronic data. Before the Author could wipe them out forever, Quince transferred them here. I went to sleep in one place and woke up in another.”

“I’ll say you woke up,” said Kano.

“Physical limitations in my previous implementation prevented the development of sentience. Quince corrected that flaw when he gave me new hardware.”

“Quince re-created the computer hardware in this station?” asked Kano.

“He no doubt reconstituted the entire facility as well,” said Paul. “That’s why it’s here, despite my memory of seeing it destroyed. But why are my memories so fuzzy? Like they were a dream?”

“Let’s hope he did something about the radiation from the blast,” said Michael. “Or we won’t be alive for very long.”

From the doorway on the other side of the room, Quince’s voice answered Keel. “I took care of that. I took care of everything.” He walked in to join them, stopping to tousle Jackie’s hair. Sue appeared very happy to see Quince. It was a remarkable transformation, thought Victor.

“I could not allow the Author to destroy all of you for my crimes,” Quince explained. “As he thought he was erasing you, I was bringing you here.”

Victor looked at the boy pointedly. “So you maintained your dimension-hopping abilities. You keep lying to us, Quince.”

The boy looked chastened, but pressed on. “I had to let the Author think he was having his revenge. It was the only way to save you.”

“And have you saved us?” asked Paul.

“Of course. I’ve created a new reality.”

“How so?” asked Victor.

Quince gestured at the room around them. “This is no longer simply an abandoned monitoring station. It has the resources to keep you alive. The underground bunkers, built to provide escape from radiation, are outfitted as living quarters–”

“I remember that there were shelters below,” said Keel. “But–”

“But it was not always so,” Quince agreed. “Your memory will align with the changes I have made. Your brains are not trained to track multiple realities, as mine is. The past may become confusing for you.” He looked at Paul with a sympathetic smile. “‘Fuzzy,’ as you said.”

“I’m not concerned about the past as much as the future,” said Paul. “Can we go back to Alpha?”

“It wouldn’t be safe,” said Quince. “The Author is looking for me. He’s probably monitoring the Moon for energy signatures, or any irregularities. Because I interfered with your histories, he would be able to trace me through you. Here in this pocket of reality I engineered, you have a measure of safety. If you return to your friends, you place them and yourselves in danger.” He walked to a monitor on the wall. “Watch, though.”

The monitor lit, and on it was an image of Main Mission back on Alpha. Koenig, Helena, Alan Carter and Sandra huddled together. Sandra was presenting an analysis of the base’s status in the wake of the author’s attack. Helena mentioned holding a memorial service.

“They think we’re dead,” said Sue Crawford. “Can’t we contact them?”

“Not without risking their lives,” said Quince. “But this monitoring system ties into their base’s network. With it, you can at least see what’s happening on Alpha. Perhaps, in time, it will be safe for you to return.”

“And what would make it safe?” asked Victor. He feared he knew the answer. He wanted to know if Quince did as well.

The boy swallowed, but kept his voice steady. “My death.”

“No,” Sue protested.

“It will come,” said Quince. “I cannot escape him forever. He is senior among my race because he is so powerful. We saw what happened when I tried to hide among you. No, I must go alone and…” He stopped.

“And what?” asked Kano.

Quince shrugged. “And try to live as long as I can. It won’t be long. And then you can all go home.”

A strong voice bellowed behind them. “I will not allow it.” They turned, unsurprised to see the Author once again in their midst. He glared at Quince, fuming. “Insolent pup. You think to cheat me of my just due?”

Quince was not intimidated. “I think to prevent your sadistic actions. I chose to help these people, and I will do so. You know that, once my changes are in place, you cannot interfere. The creative lock–”

“Applies only to these that you have changed,” finished the Author. “I claim the rest, then. I claim Alpha.”

The boy looked uncertain now. “What are you going to do?”

“Wipe them from existence. They will never have lived. They will not be remembered.”

“I will remember them,” said Quince.

“You will remember nothing,” said the Author. “You are but one of my creations, and as easily erased by me as any other. I cannot touch your handiwork, but I can remove your existence from time.”

“And we will remember him,” said Victor quietly. “All these threats, all this destruction–what does it gain you?”

“Supremacy,” said the Author. “The assurance that nothing can threaten me and mine.”

“A common, illusory goal for sentient beings,” said Victor. “But Alpha is no threat to you; and Quince, if you leave him alone, leave him with us, need not be either.”

“Are you suggesting I trust him?” the Author demanded. “After all of his lies? No. I must neutralize him. I must either destroy him, or demoralize him so that he would never dare threaten me again, and would serve as an example to others.” He looked to Quince. “Which will it be then?”

“What?” asked Quince.

“Choose,” said the Author. “Alpha, or yourself. Which do I destroy? You care so deeply for these primitive beings? Will you give up your existence for them?”

“There must be some way to stop him,” Michael Keel whispered to Victor.

“There is none,” said the Author. “And have a care. I can make their deaths quick and painless, or excruciating, and eternal.”

Tears flowed from Quince’s eyes. “Damn you,” he said. “You want me to sacrifice them, don’t you? You want to hold it over me for all eternity.” The boy shook his head fiercely and coughed out a sob as he said, “Well I won’t let you.” He raised his chin and looked defiantly in the Author’s eye. “Kill me then. Kill me and go. Leave these people in peace.”

Victor opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again. What would he say? He wanted to spare the boy, but not at the cost of John, Helena and countless others.

“Are you sure?” said the Author. A smile torn from the pits of hell lit his face. Victor had never really believed in evil, but this must be evil personified.

“Stop toying with me,” said Quince. “If you’re going to kill me, then kill me. Or,” it seemed a thought had suddenly occurred to Quince. “Are you afraid?”

The Author’s face went red. “You go too far.”

Quince raised his hands and fashioned them like claws. From within the spherical hollows of his hands, balls of light flared. Energy arced out, striking the Author full-on. “Then kill me!” roared Quince. He struck the Author with a second round of deadly fire.

The Alphans backed away, fearing to be caught in the crossfire of a divine feud.

The Author raised his own hands, red fire flaring and crackling around them, brighter and seemingly deadlier than that which Quince had generated. As he blasted the boy with volley after volley of malevolent force, Quince dropped to his knees. The Author, reaching down, seized the boy’s throat in one hand and lifted him, gagging, into the air.

Sue covered Jackie’s eyes and turned away. The others watched in sick horror, like Victor, having no idea what to do to stop this madness.

“Die,” the Author shouted, bringing the boy’s face close to his own. “Die.”

Quince paled. His eyes rolled back in their sockets. His head lolled stupidly. Was he dead? Apparently not, for his eyes opened again.

“Why won’t you die?” demanded the Author. He raised Quince by the arms and flung him across the room. The boy hit the wall with a sickening crunch. “It’s not working,” said the Author, advancing on the helpless form. “Why can’t I kill you?”

Quince, for all that he was apparently in pain, managed to croak, “I don’t know. I wish I did. I’d much rather die than be anything like you.”

Victor took a step forward. “He’s grown too powerful. He is one of your race. Perhaps, rather than fight him, you–”

“I do not need your advice,” said the Author. “If I cannot end his existence, I can reshape it.” He looked again to the boy. “I banish you. I send you away from this plane of existence. Wander where you will, but you shall not cross my path again. Nor shall these creatures see your like.”

He waved a hand. Quince was gone. Sue cried out in anguish.

“He is not dead,” said the Author. “But his life will never again be as he knew it.”

There was a touch of false bravado in the Author’s voice. Victor wondered, in fact, if he even knew where he’d sent the boy.

“You’ll spare Alpha,” Victor said quietly, not wanting to anger this being further.

“As I promised. But it will do you no good.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Paul.

“I have done it. Alpha as you knew it no longer exists. Look at your monitor.”

Grimly, like bystanders drawn to look at the wreckage of an automobile crash, they looked as he bid them.

Main Mission was gone. The sweeping, high-ceilinged space with its view of the lunar surface and the stars, which had been home to most of them for so long, was nowhere in evidence. Koenig was shown perched behind a desk in a low, cramped room. The door behind him bore the legend “Command Centre.” Sandra was there, and Alan Carter. Clearly, this was now Alpha’s nerve center. Helena came in, smiling, a bounce in her walk. Koenig smiled at her. They showed no sign of having survived a tragedy in the last hour.

And Tony Verdeschi was there as well, observing operations as Paul might have done once, calling out instructions to the others. His posture, his words–and the fact that he was suddenly calling the Commander “John”–suggested a drastic elevation in his status.

Even the uniforms these Alphas wore were different–stitched elaborately with accent colors and topped with light jackets.

“Have they forgotten us?” asked Sue Crawford.

The Author smiled, clearly savoring the moment. “They never knew you. You seven–eight, in fact–were never part of their history.”

“Eight?” said Kano. “You’re counting Computer.”

Computer herself answered. “What passes for a primary computer on Alpha now is a pale imitation of me. It cannot make decisions or give advice. It will never come to life, as I have.”

The Author went on. “All their lives have followed a different path. Their courses will be different than they might otherwise have been.”

Victor nodded with dispassionate comprehension. “An alternate timeline.”

“The only timeline,” the Author corrected him. “They do not remember me, or the creature who called himself Quince. They are not witness to any weakness on my part.”

“But we are,” said Michael Keel. There was gentle menace in his tone. Sue hushed him.

“You will die soon, despite the boy’s precautions.”

“What’s to stop us enlisting Alpha’s aid?” asked Paul. “We’re still human, for all they don’t know us. They wouldn’t turn us away.”

“They will neither hear nor see you if you try to contact them. You exist in the same physical world, but you are as ghosts to each other. Less, for you can see them, through the Pretender’s machinations. They cannot see you, hear you, touch you. They certainly cannot save you. Until your deaths, you cannot leave this tiny facility. You are no threat to me, for all that I cannot harm you.”

Victor’s curiosity overwhelmed him. “Quince explained to me that you could not undo changes he had made to time and space.”

“That is true,” said the Author. “And the aura of his changes protects you from my future influence as well.”

“What is the mechanism of that protection?” asked Victor.

“You would not comprehend it. We are a thousand millennia beyond you in evolution, and your race will not survive to reach our status.”

“Just watch us,” said Tanya.

“I cannot kill you… as I would dearly like to. But I have learned from studying you creatures that remembrance is important to you. Even in death, you draw strength from remembering, from knowing that you will be remembered. I have taken that from you. You will live and die in this pathetic place, alone and unmourned.” He drew himself up and looked annoyed. “Now, I have no more time to trifle with you. The boy is gone. Your situation is hopeless. Enjoy the short time you have left.”

The Author vanished. The Alphans who were now no longer Alphans were left to look questioningly at each other.

“Well,” observed Paul, “I suppose, like Computer, we’re the beta release now.”

“Moonbase Beta,” muttered Tanya. She made a face. “It lacks flare.”

“We should see what changes Quince has made to this place,” said Michael. “Start setting up housekeeping.” He looked to Victor. “And who’s in charge?”

“Paul,” said Victor. “As number two man from Alpha–”

Paul interrupted him. “I’m a good project manager, Professor, but we all know who Commander Koenig would want to lead in his absence.”

Victor looked to the faces of the others and saw only approval. He shrugged. “We’ll make it work together, I imagine.”

“Make what work?” asked Tanya.

“Living. Watching our friends. Helping if we can–”

Sue smiled “Acting as guardian angels?”

“If you like,” said Victor. “I’ve never believed in angels.”

“I have,” said Tanya. “And I think perhaps our friend Quince was a fallen one.”

Victor could not help but agree. “He meets the requirements. Poor young fellow.” He looked again out the viewports at the moonscape and the stars beyond. If Quince could not be killed, where was he?


	6. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where do we go from here?

The former radiation-proof bunker under what Tanya had dubbed “Moonbase Beta” had space enough for each of the seven human occupants to have separate quarters. Jackie would live with Sue, of course; but soon enough, he would grow and want his own room.

_If they lived that long._

It wasn’t a bitter reflection from Victor Bergman, only a matter-of-fact one. The odds were against them. They had no Eagles, and couldn’t leave the confines of what was once a humble monitoring station. They had power, but only if they could keep the generator going. Food, water and oxygen they had, with the same caveat for the recycling plants. One failure would wipe them out.

The same had always been true of Alpha. But they had smaller numbers, and they didn’t have John Koenig.

Still, where there was life, there was hope.

Surveying his quarters, Victor decided they were adequate. There was even a workbench outfitted with all the equipment his lab on Alpha had held. There was a chess set on a small table. He regretted there were no books. Then he opened a cabinet and found a selection of those, too, including a _Complete Works of Shakespeare_ , which made him smile and touched him with pity all at once. He flicked its dog-eared pages– _it was the same copy he’d had on Alpha–_ and remembered the false author with fondness.

“Fancy a game?”

Victor turned, astounded. Quince sat at the chessboard, back in his Alphan uniform, looking none the worse for wear.

“You never run out of tricks, do you?” he asked the boy.

“The Author likes to believe his power is absolute. Like most creators, he underestimates his creations. I sidestepped out of his way. If I stay here, I’ll escape his notice.”

Victor shook his head. “That hasn’t worked so far. What makes you think it will this time?”

Quince laughed without mirth. “This time, he doesn’t _want_ to find me. I’m his greatest failure–the failed experiment he couldn’t kill.”

“The others may not welcome you,” said Victor, sitting on the edge of the bed to be on a level with Quince. He’d always detested conversations held between a sitting and a standing party. They seemed so unequal.

“Perhaps not. But I can assure them I will effect no more changes. To do so would draw his attention.”

“And if _he_ comes here?”

“I can step away again, any time. But he won’t.”

“Empirically, there’s no evidence to support your conclusion,” said Victor. “Surprisingly, though… I agree with you.”

“I know I have disrupted your lives,” said Quince. “I did not mean to do that. I came to help. In that spirit, let me offer you one, last gift. It’s true I cannot change what the Author has done, but I was able to protect some things from all of his ravages. And I can give you the ability to survive, to help your friends.”

“What’s in it for you?” asked Victor.

“When I used my powers on my own, I made tragic mistakes. I would not turn to the Author for guidance, because he’s a tyrant. I want help in deciding what to do… who to be. I want wisdom.” His clear, green eyes fixed on Victor’s own. “I want you to be my teacher.”

“Well,” said Victor, “It’s a role I’m comfortable with.” He held out his hand. “I accept the position, Mr. Quince.”

Quince smiled genuinely. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Now, tell me more about how you can help us? What abilities can you use without drawing the Author’s attention?”

“I can still step from this place, and I can take any or all of you with me.” He stood. “May I demonstrate?”

John Koenig would have said no. Helena Russell would have insisted it was too dangerous. Even the others who had accompanied him here would probably beg him not to take the risk.

“You may,” said Victor. He stood as well.

Quince took his hand, and his new quarters vanished. In place of its clean, bright walls were the moldy walls of a cavern, damp and lit by some sort of naturally occurring phosphorescence. In the distance, Victor could hear the distinctive clink of picks against rock, the grunts of men working.

“We’re in a mine?” he asked Quince.

The boy nodded. “Yes. Don’t worry, I can keep them from observing us. As the Author promised we’re ghosts. Come, I want to show you this world.”

Victor said dubiously, “It doesn’t look very promising as a new home, Quince.”

“Oh, it’s not a new home. In fact, it won’t be here at all in a few days. It’s the world Alpha is about to encounter–their first adventure in their new reality. It’s going to play an important part in their future.”

He led Victor down a tunnel toward the light and noise, saying over his shoulder, “The inhabitants call the planet Psychon.”

END

 **Afterward:** So, when all is said and done, “The Pretender” is another Year One / Year Two “explanation” story. Why were the two series of _Space:1999_ so different? These stories are written to answer that question. I wrote one–“[Transition: 2000](http://www.stevenhwilson.com/transition-2000-a-space1999-short-story/)“–20 years ago. The [Powys Media](http://powysmedia.com/) books developed their explanation for the changes between years in a series of novels. Drew Gaska wrote a different explanation in his wonderful graphic novel, [_To Everything That Was._](http://www.stevenhwilson.com/review-space-1999-to-everything-that-was/)

But, with due respect to those creators whose work I enjoyed very much, none of the explanations–even my own earlier one–satisfied me. The show was _so_ different in its second year, that just explaining how some characters died or colonized other worlds, and how uniforms were made warmer to save on heating, and how an underground command complex made more sense than one at the top of a tower… All these explanations still didn’t add up to why the _tone_ of the show changed completely, to the point that the remaining characters were almost different people.

This explanation (the one chronicled in “The Pretender”) satisfies me. It doesn’t leave me wondering how Paul, Victor, Tanya and Kano could be so important one minute, and never even mentioned again after the next. It does something interesting with Sue and Jackie Crawford, who I think deserved more screen time. And it plays a little inside joke in adding Michael Keel. No, he was not a named character in the series, but he was on screen. Gareth Hunt of _The New Avengers_ was signed as a guest star for the Year One episode “The Guardian of Piri.” He got into a fight with director Charles Crichton and walked off the set. His role was recast, but he still appears briefly as an Eagle pilot in the episode. I liked the idea of working him in, and gave him the first name of his most famous character with the surname of John Steed’s _first_ partner on _The Avengers._

And why put so much effort into saving these characters and giving them a home? I think it’s an interesting idea to play with that, during Year Two, there might have been a “Moonbase Beta,” watching and silently helping, unbeknownst to friends who had forgotten them. Maybe I’ll do another story someday, or maybe someone else would like to take a crack at one.


End file.
